Caesar's Column eBook

beard white as snow. He was prematurely aged—­his
back was stooped—­his pallid complexion
reminded one of plants grown in cellars; he had a
dejected, timorous look, like one who had long been
at the mercy of brutal masters; his hands were seamed
and calloused with hard work; he was without a coat,
and his nether garments had curious, tiger-like stripes
upon them. He was sobbing like a child in the
arms of his wife. He seemed very weak in body
and mind. Maximilian gave him a chair, and his
mother sat down by him, weeping bitterly, and holding
the poor calloused hands in her own, and patting them
gently, while she murmured words of comfort and rejoicing.
The poor man looked bewildered, as if he could not
quite collect his faculties; and occasionally he would
glance anxiously at the door, as if he expected that,
at any moment, his brutal masters would enter and take
him back to his tasks.

“Gabriel,” said Maximilian,—­and
his face was flushed and working,—­“this
is—­or was—­my father.”

I took the poor hand in my own and kissed it, and
spoke encouragingly to him. And this, I thought,
was once a wealthy, handsome, portly, learned gentleman;
a scholar and a philanthropist; and his only crime
was that he loved his fellow-men! And upon how
many such men have the prison doors of the world closed—­never
to open again?

They took him away to the bath; they fed him; they
put upon him the clothes of a gentleman. He smiled
in a childish way, and smoothed the fine cloth with
his hands; and then he seemed to realize, for the
first time, that he was, indeed, no longer a prisoner—­that
his jailers had gone out of his life forever.

“I must go now,” said Maximilian, hurriedly;
“I will be back this evening. I have a
duty to perform.”

He returned at nightfall. There was a terrible
light in his eyes.

“I have avenged my father,” he said to
me, in a hoarse whisper. “Come this way.”

He took me into the library, for he would not have
the women hear the dreadful story. I shut the
door. He said:

“I had made all the necessary arrangements to
prevent the escape of the Count and his accomplices.
I knew that he would fly, at the first alarm, to his
yacht, which lies out in the harbor. He had ruined
my father by bribery; so I brought his own instrument
to bear upon him, and bribed, with a large sum, his
confidential friend, who was in command of his vessel,
to deliver him up to me. As I had anticipated,
the cunning wretch fled to the yacht; they took him
on board. Then they made him prisoner. He
was shackled and chained to the mast. He begged
for his life and liberty. He had brought a fortune
with him in gold and jewels. He offered the whole
of it to his friend, as a bribe, for he surmised
what was coming. The faithful officer replied,
as I had instructed him, that the Count could not offer
that treasure, for he himself had already appropriated
it to his own purposes. The miscreant had always